Stephanie Moreland
Professional Writer & Photographer

Here I am with less than two weeks left of my four-month journey, and I still don't know what my next step in life is. The questions are rolling around in my head like marbles in a pin-ball machine, "Should I try to freelance full-time? Should I try out graduate school? Should I just work a few months at a time and then travel to the next destination? Should I be a teacher?" The biggest mistake I made on this trip was to expect that all of the answers about my future would magically appear during the four-month duration of this trip, and this expectation is casting a shadow over the final days of my journey.

So I resort to something that has worked for the past five years when I need focus, clarity, and some peace: I pull out my yoga mat. Or, in this case since I have no yoga mat in Italy, I pull out my ratty towel and have a seat on the cold tile. As I go through my chosen set of poses, I replay the same conversation over and over again in my mind. "Why can't you ever decide on anything and stick with it? Why don't you just want one thing? Why can't you be like other people and just stick to traveling down one road." All of these self-defeating thoughts seem to dominate my practice today. This is not a good thing. Anyone who knows anything about yoga would say that yogic principles are all about self-acceptance, patience, and an appreciation for being right where you are at any given point in life. But today, I can't seem to apply those principles to my own state of mind.

The next thought that pops up in my mind is the most dangerous thought of all. It's the thought that you don't want to have when you have lived, learned, and had as many experiences as I have had during these past months. Suddenly, I thought to myself, "None of the bad things about you have changed. You have not evolved at all." As this thought passes through, I reach out and clasp my toes in a forward bend and rest in this position for a while, trying to breathe through my negativity.

As I'm breathing, I have a sudden flashback to high school. It was ninth grade. I wasn't very athletic then. It was before my days of cycling, running, and working out at the gym. And it was long before my days of practicing yoga. I had this memory of being in gym class and we had a final series of exercises that we had to do that would determine our final grade for the class. One of the "tests" was a flexibility test---we were expected to touch our toes and hold it for 10 seconds. I was a very good student then, and for the most part, I made really good grades. Up to this point, I had an A in gym class. I remember the gym teacher, clipboard in hand, whistle around her neck saying, "Okay, Stephanie, let's see it." So I leaned over, reached with all my might, and missed my toes by a good two inches. I pushed and pushed until I thought my hamstrings would snap, but there was no way my fingers where going to reach my toes. I was embarrassed and crushed, and my grade was dropped to a B. Who gets their grade dropped in gym class because they can't touch their toes??

This is a memory that I have cataloged and never pulled out since this very moment, years later and hundreds of miles away from where "the toe-touching incident occurred". But nevertheless, I am remembering it now right there on my floor in the middle of Rome. Then I recognized that I was grasping my toes with the palms of both hands with very little effort....and it felt really good. Then I knew, that although some things about me may never change, I will always continue to evolve, and that I must accept and be grateful for this evolutionary process. And I must remember that even though I may not be able to touch my toes---or know what my future holds---I must continue to seek the answers and not discourage my own evolution by convincing myself that my challenges will always be the same challenges.

In ninth grade, being able to touch my toes was a big challenge. It seems that I've been able to overcome that one. So in the future my current challenges will be something of the past---and knowing that is part of the power of yoga.

We had our introduction to the program outside on the patio of Cappucini in the late afternoon. It was cooler and breezy enough not to break a sweat, so it really helped cheer me up. From this day forward, the weather for most of my time in Altamura was pleasant and breezy—much to my delight it was an almost two-week respite from the heat that I had endured at the beginning of the journey. 

Tonio and Teresanna gave us a brief history of their organization and the scope of work that we would be participating in for the next two weeks. We would have two full free days, two full work days (both on Sundays) and then spend the rest of the time working by alternating morning and afternoon shifts. We were asked to sign up for “kitchen duty” days. Each participant would spend two days of their choice cooking in the kitchen instead of going to the work site with the rest of the team. On those days, participants would be responsible for preparing lunch and dinner (usually doing things like peeling carrots or chopping tomatoes), doing the dishes after each meal, and cleaning the upstairs bathrooms.

On the days that we were at the actual work site, we would be doing things like mixing mortar, re-building stone walls, re-storing old sky-lights, and general maintenance of the terrain at the farmhouse (known as the Jesce). The farmhouse is one of the many fortified structures that dot the landscape around cities like Altamura in the Puglia region of Italy. Puglia is not a tourist-heavy area, so there are many structures and archeological “gold mines” like this one that stand virtually untouched in this part of Italy. In my opinion, this makes the Jesce we would be working to restore as well as this area of Italy more intriguing to me.

The Jesce is located only 13 km away from the city of Altamura, on the old Appian Way. The farmhouse itself is located in the center of an archaeological site with evidence of urban development that dates back to 2^nd and 3^rd centuries BC and even a stratification that dates back to the Neolithic period.  Essentially, this structure has evolved over time through the fall of the Roman Empire, during the domination of the Byzantines, the Longobards, Normans, up to sometime in the 1600s-which is the version that visitors will see today if they visit the Jesce. In addition to the richness of the archaeological site and the farmhouse itself, the caves below the building house an ancient crypt that is believed to have been the center of religious worship for the local peasants sometime in the 1300s. The Byzantine frescoes (from around 1350) can still be seen on the walls of the crypt as well as a statue of Saint Frances da Paola and an altar from the 1500s.  Another fresco, by Didacus De Simone in 1664, is located at the entrance of the crypt.

After the period of the 1600s, various private families from Altamura obtained ownership of it until 1987 when it became a public historical property and was taken over by the municipality of Altamura. The important thing to understand here is that just because the property was owned by the municipality doesn’t mean that anything was to be done about the structure or the area itself. It wasn’t until 1989, when the Sinergie Cooperative was created and they developed concrete plans for the recovery and restoration of this rich piece of heritage.

The people at Sinergie came up with the Eutropia project and proposed it to the municipality of Altamura in 1993. The original idea of the project was to evaluate the surrounding habitats, archaeological remains, the architecture, and the landscape and then create an intercultural center that would help represent the heritage of this area. The thought was that they would eventually use the space for housing seminars, festivals, and exhibitions in addition to the fact that the features of the Jesce themselves offer reason enough for tourists and even people from Altamura to come out and see this important piece of history.

In 1995, the work camp itself was born, when the people of Singergie decided that a cultural exchange, and the chance to learn about archaeology and restoration, would be an innovative way to help develop this historic piece of property. So, dozens of volunteers from all over the world as well as some local volunteers were brought in to help with the first work camp. So now here I sit years later, with 17 Dutch students, one American couple, a woman from China, a father-daughter pair from the U.S, and four or five Italians who care very much about the success of this program. We are all there for the same reasons- to lend a hand, to learn about each other, to learn about Italy, and most importantly, to learn something about ourselves.

The waterworks began yesterday. In my adventure so far, yesterday was by far the toughest day for me to take. I woke up at 5 am (for the third day in a row) due to a combination of the heat and my excitement about beginning my volunteer vacation in Altamura. I wanted to get to Termini in time to catch the train. My first problem was that I didn’t know how to read my train ticket (so I had no idea what seat and car I was supposed to be in). My second problem was that I didn’t see “Bari Centrale” on the departure monitor that tells you what track you are supposed to leave from. So essentially, I had no idea which departure gate or “Bin” number I was leaving from, and now idea which train, car, or seat I was assigned to.

I waited for “Bari” or “Centrale” to pop up, but it never did. I saw “Lecce” which was scheduled to leave at the exact time that my train was supposed to. Where the hell is “Lecce”? I desperately flipped through the train schedule to find “Lecce” but could find nothing. I waited in line at the ticket office, and the man behind the counter (who was about the billionth Italian that despised me because I don’t speak Italian) told me to go to track 12. Fine. So, I make my way over to track 12 and asked an employee if that train went to Bari. “No”, he said abruptly and walked off.

So it was 30 minutes to departure time, and I had no idea where my damn train was. I found a customer service agent, and she said, “No Inglese! Other side”. Fantastic. So, I went to the other side, almost in tears at this point because I was sure that I would miss my train, and asked the lady behind the counter where I was supposed to go. Finally, the lady says to me, “Si, Lecce is the one you want…it is the last stop…take track 9. YOU must look to see which train it is…do not ask someone that you cannot trust”. Oh, that’s terrific advice…thanks so much, I wish I would have thought of that. And I was supposed to know that Lecce was the same train as Bari how exactly? Little did I know (in my naïve first-train-trip experience), that the train number on the ticket corresponds to the train number on the departure monitor.

Finally, I made it on the train,  jumped in a random car, convinced that the doors would shut on me at any second with my luck. I asked a woman to help me (in Italian), and she said, “You are in first class! Wrong car!” Okay, soooooo sorry. Finally, a man helped me get to the right car and I found my seat. There was a handsome Australian man sitting across the row that smiled at me and offered some assistance…ok so all is not lost.

By the train lurched into gear, however, the silent tears were running down my cheeks. I hid my head, and put on my oversized sunglasses so the handsome Australian would not see me cry. “What in the name of God am I doing here?” The thought just kept running over and over again. I kept trying to convince myself not to cultivate the pity party further with negative thoughts. But, dear God, it’s so hot all the time with no escape, and I keep getting lost, and encountering people who are disturbed by my mere presence in their city. Never mind making friends….they won’t give you a chance to talk. This is not what I thought it would be at all. The worst part was knowing that I would be back in the heat in Altamura and then going back to blazing Rome all over again. What the hell was I thinking, really? I’m such a travel wuss. And now I can be categorized with every other stupid American tourist- doesn’t speak the language, complains about the heat, can’t sleep without central air conditioning, and doesn’t know her way around the damn train station.

I listened to Yo-Yo Ma on my iPod and watched the Italian country side pass by on the five hour train ride. I tried to sleep and just enjoy the process, but I was feeling seriously discouraged. The train ride was nice- the scenery was spectacular and the air-conditioning was blowing. I tried to shake off the funk that I was in, but I knew I still had to get from Bari to Altamura, so the fun was only beginning. I got off the train in Bari, and went looking for the train to Altamura. Someone helped me find the station, but then I didn’t know which platform to take. I sat outside and people started showing up. I thought perhaps there would be a sign telling passengers which train would take them to Altamura, but nothing was there. To make matters worse, I was sitting on a very long bench that could have sat at least twenty people. Slowly but surely, the seats across and behind me filled up with glaring Italians. But no one would sit anywhere near me. It was like I had some kind of disease that could be transmitted by air---the tourist disease. They just stared at me and glared, and I became more depressed. I looked at my cell phone. I need my mom or my brother or one of my friends to call. I need them to tell me that I’ll make it. I need them to tell me that it will be alright and that I have to keep going…I know that’s what they would say. I needed to hear that even though everyone hates me here, I am loved somewhere in the world, and just to remember that fact, and to move along with it and forget about the people who are behaving this way. But the depression and isolation creeps into my pores and I can’t control it.

Then Anna Maria saved my life---or at least my day. I was biting my lip to keep from crying in front of these people, and I asked two ladies (in Italian) which platform I was supposed to be on. They nodded and told me “due” (two), but a young woman said in accented English, “Do not listen to them. They are wrong. Follow me, and I will tell you. Perfavore, don’t listen to them, ok? It is platform one.” She proceeded to walk me to the yellow box, and I punched my ticket. Then she sat across from me on the train. I was literally soaked to the bone in sweat at this point, and my head was throbbing. I had not eaten (as is the case with the few days before) because it was so hot, and I was having trouble with the water (or maybe the food, but something had my stomach in a twist). I just couldn’t eat. Anna Maria and I talked for an hour and a half on the train to Altamura. Although we had the problems with the language barrier, facial expressions and hand gestures seemed to work nicely for us. It turned out that she worked in the travel industry and had always dreamed of going to the United States. She thought it was wonderful, and would give anything to go someday. We built a friendship in an hour and a half, and before I got off the train, we had made plans for me to come to Matera to visit her so she could show me around. We exchanged contact information, and before I said my good-byes, she put her hand to her heart and said, “I am so happy to meet you. I am sorry that you have difficulties, but you have new friend now. We will stay in touch.” I expressed my gratitude, and walked away to wait for my ride from the train station.

I looked like I had jumped in the water fully clothed when I walked off the train. I was beyond exhausted, and my head continued to ache. I tried to make myself eat some peanuts, but my stomach was in knots, and I thought they would just come right back up again. I filled two water bottles from a freezing cold fountain, gulped them down, and filled two more. Of course, this might not have been the best course of action if the water was in fact the problem, but I knew I had the early signs of heat exhaustion. Terressana (my ride and one of the people who helps run Sinergie, the company that holds the work camp), came racing up in her mini European car just when I thought I was going to collapse. She was small, dark, energetic, and the warmth of her smile and personality made me feel much better. We chatted as we pulled up to Cappuccini, the ex-monastery that was to be my home for the next two weeks. It was a bit ramshackle, but a huge complex that offered a cool respite from the scorching heat. The monastery was on the edge of the city of Altamura, and the city center was an easy 10 minute walk away.

I met Antoinette who has participated in this program for the past six years. Vinci, a participant from Hong Kong, was smiling and friendly, and they both greeted me enthusiastically. They showed me to my room- a dorm-like facility with three twin beds. Terressana brought me cold ice water in a pitcher, and showed me the shower. “Mangia! You need to eat something, Stefania. You shower then eat.” I nodded wearily and peeled off my disgusting clothes. The ice cold water ran down my body, and I felt the relief from the heat course through my veins.

I put on clean, dry clothes and headed down to eat. They had prepared a cold rice salad and fresh bread from Altamura. I choked it down, but it was what I needed. I chatted with Antoinette and Vinci about lives, careers, travel, and education. I thought if the rest of the group ended up being this nice, I couldn’t wait to meet them. People begin to arrive in waves. There were two college students from the US, and two from Holland. Then an American couple from New Hampshire arrived, along with three more male students from Holland. Finally Tonio, who had been my contact for the project all along, arrived. I was eager to meet him to find out more about the program since I had spoken to him so many times.

A few of the students and I wandered into town (I needed socks and flip-flops which I had completely forgotten to buy in Rome). Jay, a college student from the US,  and I chatted as we meandered to the supermarket. These kids were just too cool. I have to remind myself that I’m older than they are, and that I’m not a college student anymore. It is so easy to feel younger than one’s age in Europe for so many reasons. Jay and I finally wandered back to Cappuccini- we had succeeded in getting lost during my search for socks and his search for shampoo. We had dinner as a group, and I was the ringleader for laughs and jokes about traveling along with some serious discussions about America. The couple from New Hampshire were like-minded souls, and we got along famously with Venci and the three of the Dutch students. Again, these kids are too cool for words. One of the Dutch students, Bart, with whom I would form a good friendship, is only twenty-two years old. He seems so much older. He speaks like four languages, is incredibly intelligent, loves to travel, and seems like a kind-hearted person. Sigh. Why don’t they make American men like that? Maybe they do, but I don’t ever find them.

As the evening wore on, the party tapered off as people eventually went up to their rooms catch some sleep. Tonio had his acoustic guitar out and was singing a mixture of Italian and English songs in his deep, grovely, accented voice. When he sang a slow version of “With Or Without You” I thought I might actually melt into the floor under the bright Italian moon and stars. Why don’t we have nights like this in the U.S.? We drank Peroni and laughed and listened to him sing. I was not near being ready to sleep, despite the exhausting day I had. In the end, as would happen almost every night in Altamura, I was the last person awake. I took the time to pull out my laptop, drink more beer, and spend some time with my thoughts.

Even in the beautiful surroundings, under the cover of the southern Italian sky, I could not help but feel melancholy and loneliness creep into my soul. Even with the group, I am alone here, as in so many other instances in my life. I am the oddball. I am not a student, and not a member of the company that runs the work camp. I am not part of a married couple, and I am not in my early twenties. I did not arrive with a relative or friend. I am the only one awake at this hour, and I am the only one having these crazy thoughts. The next two weeks would be a challenge for me on many levels—it had already started off as a physical and mental challenge. Tonight, I realized that it would also be an emotional challenge. This would be a time of self-discovery. I knew immediately that there would be no romantic connections, and no single person to attach myself to. This would be a time to learn how to be alone, how to not fit in with the group, and how to fit in perfectly at the same time. This would be a time for me to figure out that being alone and being lonely are two totally different things. I didn’t know this at the time, of course, because all I felt was loneliness. I only hoped that I would find a permanent way to adjust my attitude- that I would find a way to block out the feeling of loneliness and embrace the idea of being alone- during this work camp and beyond.